Cirque de Ceros
by AccapellaAnarchist
Summary: Destiel AU. Dean needs a new highlight act for his baby, Cirque de Ceros. Among hundreds of hopeful performers, Castiel, a lyra artist, shines brighter than the rest. It's not his amazing good looks and dazzling personality-though that does play a slight role-it's his beautiful performance that makes Dean so swiftly entrust the largest part of his circus, and his heart to Cas.
1. An audition to remember

So, This is, obviously,a Destiel fanfic and I am writing it with a friend of mine, and we switch chapters. However, due to length, and plot points, the chapter we write individually don't correspond to those posted. I am not sure exactly where the fic is going to go from here, smut? maybe? Really not sure. Well, enjoy. reviews are greatly appreciated!

"Next!" Dean called, rustling the papers on the desk in front of him to the next profile in his endless pile. He sighed and pressed the pads of his thumbs into his eyes in exasperation, making tiny lights dance in the darkness behind his eyelids. Auditions had started early the same morning and all of them had been mediocre at best. Some had been bumbling hopefuls who barely had enough skill to piece together a 90-second teaser while others had been pompous assholes the likes of which Dean had no interest in dealing with.

He glanced down at the next name on his list. Castiel Novak. Interesting name. He thought, wondering if it was the man's given or stage name.

Dean looked back up at the stage and saw a single lyra hanging alone in the spotlight, softly swinging in an imaginary breeze. The metal hoop taped in black fabric made a circular shadow against the point of light. No Castiel Novak was to be found. The seconds of silence trickled by. It wasn't until Dean began to wonder whether or not anyone was going to actually show up that the sudden swells of an orchestra burst to life.

Movement on stage right caught Dean's attention and a figure emerged from the darkness engulfing the majority of the stage.

Castiel was beautiful. He was tall and lean, his simple glittering white costume teasingly tight in all the wrong places so as to leave just enough to the imagination. He had short black hair, pale skin and a piercing blue gaze that captivated Dean in such a way that he was unable to break the stare.

Good… Connect… Audience… Well… He wrote clumsily on the pad of paper under his hand without ceasing to gawk at the gorgeous man before him.

Those were the only notes he took for the entire performance.

Castiel picked at his costume apprehensively. Going back and forth between confidence and regret in his choice of dress.

The piece he had prepared was a simple but powerful one. At least he thought so. During his previous run-throughs and practices he himself had felt the emotions he was trying to elicit. The pain of love, the yearning of mind and body coming together as one in desire of a singular entity.

He grimaced as he waited in the inky blackness of backstage, shifting from one foot to the other. He had been there for hours, watching the other performers go in and out, sometimes leaving with bravado and returning with the same apprehension he was feeling now. Others seemed to have little change of heart before or after the performance, a kind of noncommittal disregard.

None had been called back and none left with anything to report but that they had performed and left. That left Cas even more nervous. No call-backs after an entire day of auditions meant a harsh critic. This being Cas's first ever real performance, he had no idea what to expect.

He had been relieved beyond comprehension when he had been lead back to where he was to enter and was met with the familiarity of a black stage, curtains and single lyra hanging from two ropes tied to a point on the ceiling far above. Performing alone on a stage in a theater he could deal with. People? Interaction? Not so much. He was always the awkward one cowering in a corner, tripping over his own words and stumbling over his feet. But when he was in the air, flying through space, dancing with the lyra, he was a completely different person. He was confident and graceful, and everything he desperately wanted to be on the ground.

There was a sudden flurry of movement from the stagehands as they prepared the stage for his act. Cas eyed the person who had gone before him in curiosity. They didn't wear the hopeful elation of a possible call-back nor did they look at all disheartened.

The two smiled briefly at each other and the smile was gone just as quickly, replaced once more by grimaces of nerves.

"Next!" The gruff and muffled cry called Cas into action. Well he sounds attractive… He thought distractedly, shedding his usual awkward mannerisms to reveal his inner performer. His confidence grew with each step he took while all thoughts of the arousing voice of his auditioner dissolved into nothing and all he could see was the single ring of black taped metal hanging from the ceiling.

The seconds of silence stretched longer and longer, growing impregnated by the tension of expectation. Cas vaguely remembered that he was hopelessly nervous. Had this been any other happening, he would have been paralyzed by fear hours ago. But this was his game, his calling. He was destined to perform and perform he did.

He waited with baited breath just behind the last black curtain shielding him from view. He took in one deep lungful of air… two… three... And finally, just as the silence was beginning to get uncomfortable, the familiar sounds of violins and violas accompanied by cellos and string basses swelling in dramatic and sudden uproar trumpeted through the speakers.

It was then and only then that he fully entered the stage. His chest rose and fell with his sangfroid breaths that perfectly matched the beats of the music. He threw his head back and pulled his shoulder blades down his back, walking in the graceful steps of a dancer. As soon as he located the auditioner seated alone amongst the rows of empty chairs, he locked eyes with him.

Cas almost stumbled at the sight of the handsome man staring inquisitively at him. He was flawless. Much too perfect to be humanly possible. This man was strong, with broad shoulders sporting muscularly lean arms. His hands were worn but sturdy and his long thin fingers deftly spun a pen between them with ease. His face was the best part however. With a strong jawline, pronounced cheekbones, perfectly pink lips, and the most deliciously green eyes, it was all Cas could do to not stop and gawk at the godly being gracing him with his presence. All he wanted to do was sit and drink the other man in as one would thirst for water in the desert.

But that could wait. Cas had to get through the audition first, and where he had been determined to be the best, his will to be called back was redoubled at the possibility of spending time with the god sitting in a hastily made up desk, shuffling papers around it and making the occasional note.

He cleared his mind and forced himself to focus once more on the task at hand. As the music trickled through the speakers, Cas spun and jumped his way in a slow and meandering circle around his apparatus. Soon enough, there was nothing else in the world but him and the lyra once more. The lyra was his and he was its. They were lovers ever locked in a battle of pain and redemption, always seeking the other out and colliding together in an explosion of emotion and dance.

He grasped the rough tape of the metal hoop and only had a moment to get accustomed to its bite before he swung himself up and into the circle. He sat there a few beats, touching, feeling, caressing, relishing the feeling of his inanimate partner until it turned into the man watching him from his desk in row 20 seat 10.

The other man smiled at Cas, twirling around him in the carefully calculated choreography Cas had spent months poring over. Cas grinned back at the man, silently confessing his love through his movements. He was lost in the rosy color of his immediate and slightly embarrassing infatuation with a man he didn't even know the name of. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing except him, the beautiful man with his captivating green eyes, and their complex dance, illustrating the story of their love.

Suddenly, it was all over. The music halted and his partner was once more a lifeless hoop dangling from the ceiling. He was sad to see the image of the smiling man fading from his mind's eye, taking one last bow and winking before disappearing completely.

He looked up from his end position, his chest heaving, and heard the sound of one solitary pair of hands clapping enthusiastically. He hunted for the source of the noise, forgetting in his post-performance high that there was only one godly man in the theater with him. When Cas had located his gorgeous auditioner, and found him smiling in the same way his imaginary double had at him, he straightened and bowed deeply. A grin of ecstasy permeating involuntarily through Cas's face to match that of the mysterious man making his way hastily through the seats toward him.

Cas straightened as the man approached, meeting those heavenly candy apple green eyes and doing his best not to gawk at his beauty. He felt as though he was being rather unsuccessful.

"That… That was… I can't even put it into words." His auditioner stated, wiping residual tears from his red rimmed eyes. Cas's chest constricted. Not only was the other man flawless, but his deep rumbling voice was the epitome of attraction. It ran over Cas like silk and sent all blood rushing to his waist with some to spare to color his cheeks. "Beautiful. Yeah. That's what that was. The most beautiful thing I have ever had the privilege of witnessing." Cas couldn't help but blush a deeper shade of red and look down at his feet, feeling his usual awkwardness trickling back into his system as the adrenaline dissipated.

"Thank you Mr…?"

"Call me Dean. What's your name lovely?"

"Castiel." He returned, marveling at the sound of Dean's name on his tongue.

"Well, Cas… Can I call you that?" He continued when Cas nodded, wringing his hands together at the unexpected human interaction. "I gotta tell you, I've seen a lot of acts in my time, some of them I thought to be really good but that? I don't even have words for what that was."

"W-well, if I were to guess I would say it was my audition." God, what was he thinking? 'I would think that was my audition'? Way to make a fool out of yourself Cas. The first complete sentence out of his mouth, and he already had to agonize over the many, many perks of being a stereotypical introvert. It was equivalent to being the world's most sardonic trumpet player inside your head, and unable to make small talk with a dishwasher if your life depended on it on the outside. Well obviously that would be hard, seeing as dishwashers can't talk.

"Yoohoo? Cassie dear, you in there?" Dean's hand waving rapidly in front of his face pulled Cas out of the stupor of sarcastic self-loathing he had been in, only to find himself in a new one, this time due to the blush that was creeping steadily toward his ears. Dean had just called him dear.

"U-um, y-yes?" He gazed nervously up two inches to fall into the green that reminded him of a field in mid-spring, bathed in the rich rays of a day's last sunlight, spires of gold and ruby reaching out from the center, almost moving…. and he was off again. Immediately averting his gaze, so as not to be swallowed whole by those eyes, (no matter how much he might want to have been) Cas found the grain of the roughly painted, black hardwood floor to be rather captivating.

Dean could only half-hide his smile as he watched Cas' bright red face disappear beneath what little bangs he had. "Well, you were sort of out of it for a second, I thought I might have to carry you back to my dressing room if you had decided to faint." Despite his attempts to hide it, Dean saw the poor man's face turn an even brighter shade of crimson, some of the color bleeding into his own cheeks.

"I-I'm sure I would have been fine… had y-you just let me lay down here for a while."

"Nonsense, I couldn't leave the newest member of our circus passed out on this dirty floor!" 'Certainly not one as cute as you.'

"Wait, you mean, I'M IN?!" Cas practically yelled, breaking character. He had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming, an incredibly sexy ringmaster just called him dear, and said he liked his performance, _and_ he got the job without having to wait for many nerve wracking hours for a call-back!? He wished with all his might that he wouldn't screw this up.

"Yup, that was by far the best act of the night, and you were the last to go on anyway. So, when can you start?" Dean wanted to start working with him as soon as possible, magnificent shows involving the two of them in intricate dance, defying the laws of gravity in a world that was all theirs had already started playing through his mind.

Without any further thought, Cas just managed to squeak out an, "As soon as possible!" Before Dean could even take a breath. Any time spent with him, social or otherwise, would, without a doubt, be the best moments of his life.


	2. The Bar

Castiel's tie dropped to the floor as he sighed deeply. The apartment he had been stuck in for the past ten years was a darkened blur around him, as he shed layers of clothing and collapsed on his bed. This was partly because he had a veritable ocean of emotions swirling in a disheveled storm in his mind, and also because he hadn't had a paycheck with which to pay the electric bill. His breath rose up in front of him in misty spirals, and appeared as if it belonged in an enchanted forest.

He couldn't focus on anything, except perhaps the many scenarios floating through his vision, many of all the possible ways in which his life could fall from this new high he had achieved. Some made sense only in the darkest realms of science fiction. Many scared him. But some brought him such joy, a feeling of complete contentedness that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

He glanced at his old wall clock, which despite his every attempt to wind it properly, was a constant seven minutes behind. It read a proud thirteen minutes past ten. So it was already 10:20? Cas was exhausted, but at the same time, abuzz with….something. What was it? Happiness? Yes. Nerves? Also yes. Heat flowed through him making each nerve ending come alive, every swish of the fabric of the sheets on his skin much louder and it brought a vibrating haze to his mind.

The doorknob. The window that was far too tall and had just enough of a curtain to fend off sunlight in the morning. The ceiling with off-white spackle that was far too yellow to be at all white flaking onto his nose. The window again. No matter how he lay, Cas couldn't but close his eyes and have the face of his new employer cloud his dreams. No, he _couldn't_ sleep. Not when he had so many things to think about. A loose blue tie and a tan jacket later and Cas was nowhere to be found around the dreary old apartment.

It was now almost 11:30, and Cas was making his way downtown, walking fast, and nearly broke through a shop window when he slipped on the slightly icy ground beneath him. He figured that now he had a job at Cirque de Ceros and a paycheck, at least for a little while, he could go out and celebrate seeing as he couldn't sleep. Besides, his apartment was freezing. A little beer and warmth sounded much better. Cas' feet were on auto pilot, and he found himself standing in front of the door to a small pub he often went to, to drown his sorrows. But today, he was here, at Carroll's Corner Pub, to celebrate. Yes. He was happy.

A familiar cheery bell, rusted over from the many years of rain and snow battering it as the door was opened over and over, greeted Cas as he shuffled inside, waved half-heartedly to the bartender, and rubbed his hands together, in an attempt to shoo away the tendrils of ice on his fingers. Once satisfied with the job, he made his way over to the deep mahogany bar, the wood stained such a striking shade of burgundy, you wouldn't notice all the dents and scratches until you had been looking at it long enough, by which point you would be drunk and not really care enough to remember.

Beer in hand, tan coat roughly shoved into a corner, Cas was finally able to sit and organize his thoughts. He made a list.

1) He was undeniably infatuated, if not completely in love with a man he had only recently met.

2) He had about the same chances with him as he did with Angelina Jolie.

3) This man was his new boss.

4) This is a very bad thing.

5) He needs to quit while he's ahead and push away any ideas of a relationship with Dean.

6) Even if he did try to pursue that path, Dean was likely as straight as an arrow, and likely already in a relationship with someone much more deserving than Castiel. (But still not completely deserving)

7) He needed to push aside his social anxiety and work on a professional relationship.

8) Dean just walked into the bar.

9) He starts work tomorrow and probably shouldn't be drinking, seeing as he can barely hold a single beer.

10) Shit! Dean just walked into the bar!

Having not processed this, Castiel choked and started coughing, trying to avoid drawing attention to himself. _'I can't deal with this right now!_' thanking whatever god there was that he had paid for the beer beforehand, he quickly shrugged on his coat and turned up the collar to avoid Dean's gaze, and shuffled toward the door in hopes of escaping unnoticed.

o00000oo00000oo000000ooo

Dean shivered deeper into his favorite leather jacket against the frigid night air as he sauntered up to his favorite bar, Carroll's Corner Pub. He loved the place with it's alluringly grimy atmosphere and rustic decor. He loved the cracked and worn stools at the bar and the dusty mirror behind the bottles. He even loved the tired chime of the ancient bell that greeted him whenever he entered.

He gave a cheery wave to the bartender he had long since befriended and took his customary glance around. His eyes roved over the usual array of bikers, pool sharks and businessmen and caught on someone he had never seen there before. The man looked familiar, but Dean couldn't quite put his finger on where he had seen this gorgous man. He definitely would remember knowing him.

It hit Dean like a brick wall. The man sitting in a booth solitary, nursing a beer and looking alarmingly like he was having a minor heart attack was the new performer he had hired not 3 hours before. Castiel. How could Dean have not remembered a face as perfect as Cas's?

Distracted by his internal scolding, he almost didn't notice when Cas just about sprinted out the door, leaving behind a half finished beer and the rusty echo of the bell marking his exit. Slightly alarmed by the hasty escape, Dean furrowed his brow and wondered briefly if he had done something wrong. He sure hoped he hadn't, that would ruin what little chance he had at scoring a date with the socially awkward aerialist.

The irony of that thought did not escape Dean seeing as he was here to have a date with some woman his brother Sam had set him up with.

Sam had promised that while she was a law student, she wasn't as snooty as most other ones he had sent Dean's way. She was certainly Dean's type if he had one. That much was evident the moment they locked eyes from across the room. She flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder and sauntered over to Dean, giving him a gorgous smile that showcased a set of perfect teeth. She was thin but not too skinny, her jeans hugged her hips and her shirt, just too short to cover her entire midsection, outlined seductively protruding hip bones and a strip of bronzed skin.

As the date progressed, Dean tried to be interested. He really did. Under different circumstances, he would have had no trouble. She had the cutest laugh, she was smart and witty and seemed to think Dean's stupid jokes were funny enough. He loved the way she would bat long eyelashes at him and gaze at him with her light brown eyes.

Yes, if the day hadn't progressed in the way it had, if Dean hadn't met Castiel or even if he hadn't seen him sitting alone in this very bar, Dean would have loved to love this woman. Unfortunately the only thing Dean could really think about was Cas. His sapphire eyes that glistened with passion as he danced, how painfully awkward his social interactions were with other people. His almost complete transformation he underwent as soon as that spotlight hit his golden skin.

Dean felt horrible for this woman. She was obviously very interested in him and here he was acting distracted and distant. From that moment on, he focused all his attention on her. Or tried anyway. Thoughts of Castiel kept popping unexpectedly into his thoughts, stunting him mid-sentence and taking his mind elsewhere while his date was talking.

Though he found his date to be a very interesting and sexy woman, he was glad when the date was over. It was late and his brain was exhausted from exhorting so much effort in trying not to distract himself with thoughts of Cas.

After a rather awkward hug-handshake thing, they parted ways. He sincerely hoped he had made their date a pleasurable one even though he wasn't interested and had probably acted as such. He really hoped she didn't think he was a douchebag...

He flopped gratefully face first onto his bed, groaning in exhaustion as he rolled to his back. He gazed at the ceiling through the dark, his imagination once more painting vivid images of Cas in various scenarios. He huffed out a frustrated sigh and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand until he saw spots. _What the hell is going on?_ He thought, pushing away a particularly sensual picture of Cas in the lyra. Dean barely knew the guy's name. He knew nothing about Castiel other than the fact that he was socially awkward, an amazing performer, and he _really _didn't like seeing Dean in bars.

Why was he so captivated by Cas? Why was this beautiful man suddenly all he could think about? Dean should be used to beautiful people by now, being in show business, he was constantly surrounded by them. Somehow Cas was different. Dean was not one to believe in love at first sight but his unnecessarily strong reaction to Cas's very presence was proving him wrong.

"Cas. Castiel. Cassy." He mumbled the nicknames to himself, marveling at the way they so easily fit in his mouth and rolled off his tongue. He was going crazy. That was the only explanation. Castiel didn't even exist, the Renaissance man was a figment of his imagination dreamed up by desperation for the love his previous relationship had stripped him of. But how could Dean dream up something so perfect? It simply wasn't in his mental capacity. So Cas must be real...

Dean fell asleep thinking along those very lines, picturing the man in question, imaging twining his arms around the other man, smiling against the lean muscle of his shoulder and planting tired kisses over his back... Dean fell asleep with the name Castiel on his lips.

0oooooooo0oooooooooooo0ooooooooo0o0

So... short chapter is short. This is one of those slow chapters that doesn't really go anywhere, but still needs to be there for plot development, and there will likely be a few of these, so bear with me. Umm... there isn't really much else necessary to say, so see you next update!


	3. Enter Crowley, stage right

So, here begins true character introduction. my friend and I were debating just what role Crowley should play in the story, so if he ends up a bit ooc, sorry. Also, if it gets a bit confusing later with Cas being brought around, it will be firstly train-of-thought writing, and then Dean's perspective will come by to clean it up, so don't freak. This is unfortunately another stair chapter.

Cas woke up as a confused burrito that looked as if it had become sentient after radiation treatment as he was mumbling angrily in Enochian, trying to find his way out of the cryptic maze of sheets that engulfed him. After a good five minutes he finally shoved the sheets to the ground in an agonizingly large huff, partly because he required air, and to emphasize his victory over his cream-colored captor.

After a slight pause, followed by an exclamation of "Ahggg! Shit!" Castiel shot from his warm, creaking twin bed into the frigid air of his apartment. With only his boxers on, he made quite a ruckus among the dust spiraling through the spires of sunlight.

With his tie on backwards, resume crumpled in his right hand, Cas took one last look at the clock, reading 6:15. He opened the door, took three steps, and found a strange feeling around his ankles. Ahh. It made sense now. He forgot his pants.

A startled gasp echoed down the hall from the door of his elderly neighbor, who happened to be standing outside her door, thinning white hair in mismatched curlers, paper under her arm, and a steaming mug of what may have been coffee dripping down her pink 80's robe and onto the floor. Her wrinkled face that looked as if the devil himself had grabbed her skin and was pulling her to hell already (although he would never say that out loud) met his wide-eyed pout of horror, as he looked down, nodded silently to her, and turned slowly back to his own room with head up, trying to keep whatever dignity one can find in boxers with little black feathers printed on them.

Dean was just going to check his watch when he found a (now properly dressed) flustered Castiel standing a few feet behind him.

"Whoah! Don't just creep up on people like that man! You nearly gave me a heart attack…"

"Dean," Cas marveled at how his name still retained it's smoothness, even after it's initial use. "I was not intending to… creep. Do you require a doctor?" He didn't stutter that time. Cas felt he was getting the hang of this, "small talk". Simply imitate the socially flawless people he found on the television and he would be fine. Not that he watched much television.

"Umm, no, I'm good. Just, Don't do that next time, kay Cassie?"

So he wasn't fired. Good, unlike his past "jobs" his strange demeanor wasn't as off-putting to this man as most.

Dean could barely contain his grin at the absolute adorable embarrassment his newest employee seemed to be experiencing. He loved the way Cas would say something, think better of it, and practically strangle himself to mend the situation. He sincerely hoped the other man wouldn't actually asphyxiate himself so as to make Dean have to heimlich maneuver his ass. Now that would be embarrassing. He made a mental note to look up how to perform CPR after today's activities.

Cas was still bumbling on when Dean came back from his musings. Something about being sorry for arriving to work late on the first day. Dean didn't mind. His last headliner usually wouldn't show up until hours after she was expected. It was the bane of the performer, he himself suffered greatly from it much to the chagrin of his father's previously appointed assistant, Crowley. The man was the definition of punctual and always scolded Dean for bursting into work in breathless rushes despite his best efforts to be on time.

It had actually surprised Dean somewhat to see a rather disheveled-looking Castiel, his chest heaving, appear behind him. He hadn't expected Cas to come along until much later. So much later in fact, that Dean hadn't even thought about rigging his new performer's lyra yet. Castiel as a package seemed to be getting sweeter and sweeter the longer he stayed.

Dean halted the shorter man's discombobulated apologies with a smile and a wave of his hand. Placing the same appendage casually in his pocket, he shrugged away any other pleas for forgiveness.

"No no Cas, you're completely fine. I actually wasn't expecting you for another few hours. That's why your lyra isn't up yet. But that's my fault, I should have rigged it last night. So it's me who should be apologizing to you."

"But… But… On the contract you gave me yesterday it said report time was 7 am?" Cas's confusion was just as alluring as his embarrassment. The way his dark eyebrows would fold in on themselves, a cute crease forming between them as his forehead wrinkled in bafflement. The way his breath huffed out of his slightly parted lips while he rummaged through a brown leather bag hanging precariously on his shoulder, crumpled resume forgotten in a tightly clenched hand.

Dean stopped himself from staring, shaking his head slightly and scolding himself for the prolonged ogling. He had to stop doing that. "7 is simply a suggestion. No one really follows it and it's honestly way too early if you ask me but my assistant insisted it needed to be early. Don't get me wrong, I love the guy, known him all my life, but he can be a bit anal retentive sometimes."

Cas's captivating chuckle tinkled awkwardly through the air between them. "Sounds like it."

Dean was about to respond when a throaty and commanding voice shouted: "Dean!"

"Speak of the devil…" He muttered mostly to himself. Castiel's smirk made it obvious that Dean had been highly unsuccessful at keeping the aforementioned thought confined to his mind alone. A slight blush colored his cheeks and he glanced back at the angelic man, a sheepish smile creeping over his lips.

Dean turned just in time to see his life-long assistant rounding the corner. Striding around in his no-nonsense, "I own the place" kind of swagger. Dean's sheepish grin morphed into a genuinely happy one at the sight of his aging friend.

Crowley, if he had a last name Dean never knew, was of average height, pale skin, and deep green eyes, muddied with swirls of brown. He was a balding man with salt and pepper hair, what remained of it, and a short but expertly trimmed beard to match. Clad always in a black suit, he seemed to be constantly on his phone jabbering in his rapid-fire british-accented speech, clipboard in hand, bossing the performers around or handling the monetary side of running the circus which Dean was hopeless at. Crowley commanded respect from anyone he met and refused to deal with anything he didn't want to. It was the ongoing joke with the members of Cirque de Ceros that while Dean's name was on the deed, he was more the pretty face while Crowley actually ran things. They weren't entirely wrong either, if it wasn't for Crowley, Dean's baby would have crashed and burned a long time ago.

"Yes Crowley?" He asked, feigning annoyance.

"So I talked to the venue owner and they said that this weekend through the next were good for our shows." He started, talking in his million-mile-a-minute fashion, rolling his eyes at Dean's sass. "I tried to get more days but she wasn't having it. If this wasn't such an important venue for customers, I would suggest we move on… Who's this?" He asked, trailing off from his tangent and pointing to a very overwhelmed-looking Castiel, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

"Oh! I forgot to introduce you two. Crowley, this is the new headliner, Castiel. Castiel, this is my assistant, Crowley." Castiel gulped nervously and nodded in silent acknowledgment while Crowley uttered a hurried and huffed "how do you do." Crowley's wide eyes turned back to Dean and he instantly knew that he was in for it when they got back to his office. Now it was Dean's turn to gulp in nervousness, Crowley was furious at his horribly sudden decision to hire Cas. They're plan had been to discuss and make the choice together after all. Dean tried to feel bad for not honoring their agreement but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Cas was too perfect and Dean was the head honcho anyway. He had the power to make an executive decision such as this and made it he had.

Crowley was about to let him have it right then and there, regardless of who was around when he got a call and, figuring it was more important that scolding his young superior, stormed away after a curt nod to the new performer. Dean let out a grateful sigh, thanking whichever god just made that happen. He respected Crowley more than anyone and refused to let people think he was the boss of the older man but when Crowley got angry, there would be hell to pay. No matter, Dean would pay it later, right now, he had a beautiful Castiel standing in the same spot, looking rather lost.

"Come on you, let's get your lyra rigged." He said, brushing away the residual tension with a flourish of his arm, placing it around Cas's shoulders and steering the other man through the maze of props and equipment.

Hours later, Dean stumbled into his office in a thick cloud of euphoria. He hadn't realized it but spending hours talking with Cas had made him oblivious to just about anything and everything except the man of his affections.

He practically floated around his desk to flop down in his chair and close his eyes lazily, grinning like the love-struck idiot he was. He was so entrenched in his thoughts of Castiel that he hadn't noticed the figure sitting patiently in the chair across from him until the other cleared his throat.

"Have fun did you? I hope you did because we have business to discuss. Sorry to cut your daydreaming short princess." Dean's eyes flew open and he jumped out of his chair in surprise, a strangled cry escaping his mouth.

"Crowley!"

"Ello darling." He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together in front of him, staring the man opposite down with eyes glowing like burning coals of rage. Dean felt himself unintentionally shrink under the intimidating glare of his advisor. Neither man said anything for a long time, the silence growing impregnated with suppressed fury and apprehensive expectation.

It was Dean that surrendered to the battle of wills first. "Look, if this is about my hiring Castiel, I'm sorry but you should have seen his performance Crowley… It was so beautiful… It moved me in ways that I didn't even know I could be moved. It spoke to me… It was a quick decision, I know, but if you had seen his teaser, you would have done the same thing."

"Oh would I?" Crowley shot back, venom dripping from every syllable. "It would have been nice to have actually seen the performance first, Dean. It would have been nice to have actually discussed it with you, like we had agreed upon in the first place. Don't you dare assume what I would or wouldn't have done, boy. That is not, nor has ever been your place."

"I'm sorry Crowley but he fits all the criteria. He's young, talented, beautiful…"

"I DON'T CARE IF HE'S THE NEXT LEONARDO DA VINCI OF THE CIRCUS! We don't hire people as our headliner simply because they can parade around in graceful circles and have a pretty face! They have to be able to bring in the money. They have to be able to speak to the general audience so that we get repeat customers, not just the ringmaster. Do you understand Dean Winchester?"

Dean's hands clenched into painful fists under the desk. "Not everything is about money, you know." He said quietly in a valiant attempt to keep his temper in check so as to not start throwing punches. The last time that happened, it hadn't ended well for either of them.

"'Not everything is about the money.'" He mocked, raising his pitch to that of a young girl's. "Ha! Of course it is Dean! Everything we have here wouldn't be if it wasn't for the money I keep in check!" Crowley knew he was being irrational. He knew that money wasn't everything but that wasn't the real problem. Crowley was scared.

He had feared for a long time that his almost adopted son was a homosexual and the arrival of this Castiel was seeming to perpetuate the problem. Dean had slept with women and had relationships with them. Crowley knew that, in fact, he had introduced Dean and his last long-term girlfriend. But that had ended in horrible heartbreak on both sides and now it seemed that Dean was finally giving in to the homosexual side of himself. Crowley wanted none of it. Being homosexual was unnatural, a gross life choice equal to that of polygamy. He didn't want to see Dean, someone he cared so deeply about, stoop to the level of the vermin of the earth. He simply had to choose the right path.

Dean narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I don't believe you. Something else is going on here. You've never mentioned this view on money before. What's up?"

Crowley stood up slowly, and spread his fingers across the desk, looking straight into Dean's green eyes with his own. "Do you love him?"

After a very brief pause, Dean said, "yes."

Crowley's worst fears, now having been realized, bloomed across his face as he backed away in slow panic. Dean was confused and hurt by his friend's reaction. He had never, in all the years and through all the mistakes Dean had ever made, looked at him in the same horrified manner he was now.

Without another word, Crowley backed into the door of the office, fumbled blindly with the latch, and scurried out of it, ignoring the anguished pleas to return from Dean.

So, Crowley gets to be a douche. Sorry! He won't always be a douche, but because of it, he gets an 'I told you so' moment later... Don't hate me!


	4. Chapter 4

Cas had been standing nervously outside of the office into which his prospective career- and current love interest- disappeared into. If the laws of physics had been in his favor, a veritable grave would have been ingrained in the floor because of his pacing, and he thought perhaps he could bury his dreams in it, and his social anxiety. In his anxious contemplation of all the things wrong with his life, Cas failed to notice Crowley come barreling out of said office, and straight into him.

"Watch it!" grumbled Crowley, attempting to lift himself off of the man who just took his decently rational son, and turned him into a bumbling homosexual buffoon. He had already started to accumulate resentment for this man. Perhaps it was unprecedented, maybe a bit unlike him. Okay, really unlike him, Crowley wasn't one to come to a conclusion without research and a decent amount of evidence for a verdict. But he couldn't let one shy lyra artist take down everything he had helped Dean to create.

Unless…. He took a moment to take in the figure he just fell on top of. Aside from his spot-on impression of a deer in headlights, he looked fairly respectable, and wasn't dressed like an obviously gay man. Perhaps Dean had taken an interest in someone he couldn't have. Crowley could work with this. Even if it might hurt Dean a bit at the beginning, he would find it to be in his best interest later. Of this, Crowley was sure.

"Sir! My apologies, I should not have been standing in front of the door, not that I was, well I was there just now, obviously, but I swear, I wasn't eavesdropping!" Cas had pulled Crowley off the floor with surprising strength, but with an equal amount of gentleness.

"No, no, I should have looked where I was going, sorry." Maybe he could even keep this guy on, it wasn't right to ruin his chances at a job, just because Dean felt the need to swoon over him. He might even be the act the show needed.

"I, um. Should I go and work on something? I could clean. I am rather good at that. Or I could perhaps try assisting the trapeze artists with… whatever it is they do."

"You should ask your boss, the acts are not my department. If you need anything involving pay, or the details of your employment, I'm your man." Having lost most of his confusion, only Cas' eyebrows gave away his nervousness. Crowley was about to walk away, but something held him in place.

"Um, I hate to ask, but you wouldn't happen to be married by any chance? I don't mean to pry, but if you will be working here it would be useful on your… record."

Cas' eyes lowered a fraction, and a flicker of loneliness flitted across his face before he responded. "No, unfortunately I have not found someone with whom to settle down. However, I have the feeling it will become infinitely easier now that I am employed."

That wasn't the conclusion Crowley had been hoping for, and with nothing left for him to say, he excused himself with a "hmm", and turned on his heels.

Left alone with his thoughts in the hallway that suddenly seemed ten times more empty than it should, he debated going back into the office, the tarnished silver handle gleaming, beckoning in the dim reflection of the stage lights that were always on. Cas vaguely wondered if they even had an off switch.

Before he could move however, a thick hand clapped itself over his shoulder, and was accompanied with some of the strangest laughter he had ever heard. It sent a shiver down his spine, and not the good kind.

"So," began the nameless voice. "You must be the new talent everyone has been talking about. I must say, you aren't exactly what I had in mind. But hey, give us a good show and you should fit in just fine." There was that laughter again.

Cas tried to turn his head around to observe who it was trying to engage him in conversation, but was instead flung around by his shoulder a little bit too forcefully to be taken as a friendly gesture.

Taking in the figure that had been standing behind him, Castiel found a man with a strong chin, that being the first thing he was confronted with. As his eyes traveled upward, he found a deep smirk that practically screamed mischief, eyes that sparkled, and he couldn't tell whether they were green, yellow or brown, because every time the man blinked they seemed to change. His light brown hair was pulled back, revealing a high forehead. If the guy had been wearing a tribly, you could have mistaken him for a member of the Italian mafia.

"Well, lets have you meet the other performers here, you must be dying to talk to them." Sending a wink toward Cas, the still unnamed stranger grabbed his hand and practically hauled him down the hall toward what he assumed were the dressing rooms. Why he had put so much cynical emphasis on Cas' alleged need to talk to people was beyond him. But he had meant something by it, and he could only follow Mr. Mafia down the hall.


	5. You may wanna work on your people skills

Fighting back wasn't something that crossed Cas' mind until minutes later, when his terror had ceased bubbling up into his throat and burning like bile. By the time the thought had occurred to him however, the Mafia Man's galloping gait had slowed considerably. They seemed to be nearing their destination.

The mysterious man's iron grip on Cas' pinched fingers didn't lessen in the slightest until the pair had entered a dark and eerily quiet space. It felt cavernous and their footsteps echoed against the walls for a seemingly infinite amount of time. Abruptly, the bruisingly constant pressure upon Cas' had stopped and he felt an overwhelming sense of solitude. The seclusion wasn't in the slightest absolute though. There were still presences crowding around him. The inky blackness of the room-or cavern for that matter-pressed against his straining eyes and clogged his mouth, flooded his lungs with an oppressive nothingness in which he was hopelessly lost.

He wandered blindly, searching for the curious man who brought him here. He called out, and listened intently around the reverberations of his own voice, but heard nothing in return. It was only when he finally stood still, at a loss for what to do, that there came a single phrase from out of the darkness. It was whispered and quiet but the kind of stage whisper that travels throughout crowds of people no matter what the volume. The phrase itself sent cold shivers cascading down Cas' spine in droves of icy fear. It coiled his muscles into tight balls and sent his heart pounding with adrenaline.

"Hope you're not afraid of the dark."

And with that, the deadbolt slid into place.

Cas stood in paralyzed terror until the deep clang of the lock stopped ringing through his head. Once the silence closed in on him once again, Cas fumbled over his own feet to attempt to find a door, a weapon, someone else in the room, something he could use to get out of there.

Well this is just fan-fucking-tastic. He thought to himself, smiling bitterly at his own naive stupidity. I knew this whole situation was too good to be true…

Cas' internal scolding was cut short when the whispering started. He stopped in his tracks and strained his ears to listen. What they were saying was indistinguishable but there were definitely other human beings in this room with him.

"Hello?" He called, hoping beyond all hope that someone would come to his aid or at least reply to his pleas for help. None came however. The incessant whispering simply continued in the same tempo, at the same volume with no pauses or breaths. It was unnerving.

Choosing to ignore the voices for the time being, Cas continued to search in vain for anything he could use to get himself out of the situation. He didn't know why he was freaking out so much, it seemed to be that he was in no danger, if something homicidal was lurking in here with him otherwise he would be dead already. Unless the beastie likes to play with it's food… He shook the thought out of his head. Now was not the time to be thinking those thoughts. Now was the time to be getting out. So, ignoring his own imagination now, Castiel set to work locating an exit.

Whispers in the dark. The rustle of fabric rubbing against itself. Feet almost silently skittering across the dirty floor. The acrid stench of sweat and panic intoxicatingly swirling about the air.

Cas had long since stopped searching for an exit and had found a quiet place in which to curl up in a tight ball and come to terms with the fact that this was the place he was going to die. He had been there for what felt like hours, days, months. He couldn't remember anymore, time passed so slowly in here. Time held less and less importance to him the more his mind became unhinged and was subjected to the ravings of a lunatic.

He impatiently awaited his fate seeing as he had already said his mental goodbyes to those he thought perhaps would miss him. Those people being his sister, Anna, and of course Dean. At least he hoped Dean would miss him… They hadn't even had the chance to foster a friendship but he hoped that he had left a lasting impression on the man that exceeded his wildest dreams.

His stomach rumbled painfully in his midsection. Cas ignored the sensation. Now was not the time to be hungry. He had other things to worry about. He…

The whispering stopped as abruptly as it had started. The deadbolt echoed back into the unlocked position and the creaking of the door boomed into Cas's sensitive hearing. Wincing at the unfamiliar sound, he clumsily fumbled around to locate the source of the noise. A widening crack of light was seeping into the dank space, illuminating a cavernous warehouse of sorts with high, thin metal beams and cold, uneven walls. His prison was empty save for the dirt coating the cement floor in a thin blanket of filth. The signs of his struggle to get out was etched into the sediment, painting patterns of panic on the ground like some madman was entrusted with a paintbrush.

Cas sank back into his corner as the harsh light from the outside assaulted his retinas. He squinted through the pain to see a figure silhouetted in the doorway. As he watched, the figure glanced around, located him, and strode towards him with confident strides. The man was tall and lean but obviously muscular and defined in structure. His confident gait seemed strangely familiar to Cas though he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out who it was or how he knew this man.

Suddenly, Cas' eyes adjusted to the glare coming from the open doorway and the face before him slid into focus.

"Hello again, old friend." Smiled Mr. Mafia.

**Our dear Cassy also may or may not be schizophrenic. Gabe is an ass.**


End file.
